The Gates (2009) (9 page)

“What is it, Hilbert?” said Professor Stefan in the tone of one who would rather not know what “it” is at all, thank you very much.

“It’s the portal,” said Professor Hilbert. He had always liked the sound of that word, which fit in with his theories of the
universe. Anyway, since they still didn’t know for certain what it was, he could call it anything he liked.

“So you’ve found out what it is?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Do you know if it’s ongoing?”

“We’re not sure.”

“Have you even found out if that’s actually what opened?”

“Oh, we know it opened,” said Professor Hilbert. “That part’s easy.”

“So you’ve
proved
that it exists.”

Professor Stefan liked things to be proved before he accepted the fact of their existence. This made him a good scientist, if not a very imaginative one.

“Er, no. But we strongly suspect that it exists. A portal has been opened, and it hasn’t closed, not entirely.”

“How do you know, if you can’t find it?”

A smile of immense satisfaction appeared on Professor Hilbert’s face.

“Because we can hear it speak,” he said.

If you listen hard enough, there’s almost no such thing as silence: there’s just noise that isn’t very loud yet. Oh yes, in space no one can hear you scream, or blow up a big spaceship, because space is a vacuum, and sound can’t travel in a vacuum (although think how dull most science fiction films would be if there were no explosions, so pay no attention to grumps who criticize
Star Wars
because you can hear the Death Star explode at the end—spoilsports) but otherwise there is noise
all around us, even if we can’t hear it terribly well. But noises aren’t the same as sounds: noises are random and disorganized, but sounds are
made.

Deep in the LHC’s command center, a group of scientists was clustered around a screen. The screen displayed a visual representation of what had occurred on the night that the collider had apparently malfunctioned. The scientists had painstakingly re-created the circumstances of that evening, restoring lost and rewritten code, and had attempted to trace, without success, the trajectory of the unknown energy particle, which now expressed itself as a slowly revolving spiral.

“So this is what you think happened to our collider,” said Stefan.

“It’s still happening,” said Hilbert.

“What? But we’ve shut down the collider.”

“I know, but I suppose you could say that the damage, if that’s what it is, has been done. I think—and I stress ‘think’— that, somehow, enough energy was harnessed from the collider to blow a hole between our world and, for want of a better term, somewhere else. When we shut down the collider, we took away that energy source. The portal collapsed, but not entirely. There’s a pinhole where there used to be a tunnel, but it’s there nonetheless. Listen.”

Beside the screen was a speaker, currently emitting what sounded like static.

“It’s static,” said Professor Stefan. “I don’t hear anything.”

The static whooshed slightly, its pattern changing as though in response to the professor’s words.

“We wanted you to hear the signal before we cleaned it up,” explained Hilbert.

“Signal?” said Stefan.

“Actually a voice,” said Hilbert, flipping a switch, and instantly the static was replaced by something that Professor Stefan had to admit sounded a great deal like a low voice whispering. The professor didn’t like the sound of that voice at all, even if he had no idea what it was saying. It was like listening to the mutterings of a madman in a foreign tongue, someone who had spent too long locked in a dark place feeling angry with all those responsible for putting him there. It gave the professor, who was, as we have already established, not an imaginative man, a distinct case of the collywobbles. Its effect on the other listeners was less disturbing. Most of them looked excited. In fact, Dr. Carruthers appeared to be having trouble keeping his tea cup from rattling against its saucer, his excitement was so great.

Professor Stefan leaned in closer to the speaker, frowning. “Whatever it is, it sounds like the same thing being said over and over. Are you sure it’s not someone’s idea of a joke? Perhaps there’s a bug in the system.”

Hilbert shook his head. “It’s not in the system. We’ve checked.”

“Well, what’s it saying?”

Professor Hilbert looked puzzled. “That’s the thing,” he said. “It’s a known language. We’ve had it examined. It’s early Aramaic, probably from around one thousand
B.C.
We’ve established that it’s a version of the same language we found embedded in our code.”

“So it’s coming from somewhere on Earth?”

“No,” said Professor Hilbert. He pointed at the image of the Event. “It’s definitely coming from somewhere on the other side of that. Professor, we may just have proved the existence of the multiverse.”

Stefan looked doubtful. “But what’s it saying?” he repeated.

Professor Hilbert swallowed. What might have been worry creased his face.

“We think it’s saying, ‘Fear me …’”

N
URD, THE
S
COURGE OF
Five Deities, had been devoting a lot of thought to his recent experiences. Given that he didn’t have a whole lot else to think about beyond whether or not Wormwood was looking even mangier than usual, or, “My, isn’t it flat around here?” it was quite a welcome distraction.

Among the subjects under consideration was his size. Was he, Nurd wondered, very, very small, small enough to be crushed by what he now believed was a mechanism of some kind? He had never really speculated about this before, since demons came in all shapes and sizes. Indeed, some of them came in more than one shape or size all by themselves, such as O’Dear, the Demon of People Who Look in Mirrors and Think They’re Overweight, and his twin, O’Really, the Demon of People Who Look in Mirrors and Think They’re Slim When They’re Not.

A great many demons were little more than ethereal beings, wisps of nastiness that floated around like bad thoughts in a dark mind. Some chose physical forms just so that they could hold on to things, which made tea breaks much more satisfying. Others were given form by the Great Malevolence himself, for his own nefarious purposes.
¹⁹

Nurd wasn’t privy to the Great Malevolence’s plans for the conquest of Earth. Few were, except those closest to him. The Great Malevolence had been stuck in Hell for an extraordinarily long time, marooned in that desolate place with only his fellow demons for company. He had managed to carve out a kingdom for himself, but it was a kingdom of rock and dirt and pain. He could hardly be blamed for wanting to get away from it.

The Great Malevolence was extremely angry, and unfathomably cruel, and what the Great Malevolence hated more than anything else was people. People had trees, and flowers, and dragonflies. They had dogs, and footballs, and summers. Most of all they were free to do pretty much whatever they liked where they liked and, as long as they didn’t hurt anybody else along the way, or break the law, life wasn’t bad. The Great Malevolence wanted nothing more than to bring that to an end, preferably an end that involved wailing and screaming, and big fires, and demons with pitchforks poking people where they didn’t like being poked.

Even though Nurd was a demon, the Great Malevolence frightened him a lot. If Nurd had been the Great Malevolence, he would have been afraid to look at himself in a mirror, so frightening was the Great Malevolence. The Great Malevolence probably didn’t even
have
a reflection, Nurd thought. Any mirror would be too scared to show it.

Nurd stared out at the Wasteland. Anywhere had to be better than here. If he could make his way to the Place of People, then he could rule it in his own manner, and perhaps be a little nicer about it than the Great Malevolence, once he’d got some of the fireballs and general terrifying of the population out of his system.

But he would need to be ready for his journey, if it were to happen again. He tried to remember the sensations he had experienced as he was dragged from one world to the next, but couldn’t. He had been so confused, and so terrified, that the journey was over before he’d realized what was happening, and then someone had, of course, dropped a heavy object on him, and that had been the end of that.

He did his best to recall whether he had been given any indication that he was about to pop out of existence in one place and pop up in another not very long afterward, and decided that the tips of his fingers had begun to itch something terrible in the seconds before he went off on his unanticipated trip.

Actually, just like they were itching now.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Nurd barely had time to concentrate on making himself significantly larger before there was a loud pop and he vanished from his throne.

• • • 

As Professor Hilbert suspected, the Large Hadron Collider had, through only some fault of its own, managed to open a hole between our world and somewhere else entirely. It wasn’t quite a
black
hole, since it obeyed only some of the rules of a black hole while rudely ignoring others, which would have greatly irritated Einstein and other scientists like him. Neither was it quite a wormhole, although it obeyed some of the characteristics of a wormhole too. Nevertheless, it would do nicely until a black hole or wormhole came along.

Here are some things that are worth remembering about black holes, should it ever seem likely that you’re going to encounter one. The first is that if, at some time in the future, a group of nice scientists in white coats suggest that you—yes, you!—have been chosen as the lucky candidate to enter a black hole and find out what’s going on at the other side, it would be a very good idea for you—yes, you!—to find something else to do, preferably far away and not involving, even peripherally, black holes, space suits, or scientists with an unsettling gleam in their eyes.

Perhaps you’ve already worked this out for yourself, being a clever person. After all, if sticking a head, or any other part of oneself, into a black hole is such a great idea, then scientists would be queuing up to do it, instead of tapping someone else on the shoulder and inviting him to have a go.

Which brings us to the second thing worth noting about black holes: your life is likely to be very short, although spectacularly eventful, if you go messing about with one. There may well be all kinds of quite fascinating stuff at the other side
of a black hole, but you’re unlikely to be able to tell anyone what it is. The gravitational force of a black hole is subject to quite dramatic changes, so just as you’re thinking to yourself, “Wow, a black hole. How interesting and swirly it is. Wait until I tell those nice scientists all about it!” your body will be ripped to shreds and then compacted to a point of infinite density.

Which will probably hurt a lot, although not for very long.

Figure 1: you in a black hole

Then again, you might be lucky enough to plummet into a supermassive black hole, where the gravitational changes are a little gentler. In that case you’ll still be torn apart, but more slowly, so you might have time to come to terms with what it feels like before you are crushed to that point of infinite density.

It all depends upon the sacrifices one is willing to make for the sake of science, really. It’s your choice. Frankly, I’d find a less risky job, if I were you, like being an accountant, or cleaning the teeth of great white sharks with a toothpick and some floss.

As it happened, Nurd, the Scourge of Five Deities, was learning a great deal about the nature of not-quite-black holes since he was, at that moment, plunging through one. He really didn’t
want to be, either, because he felt that no good was going to come of it. He was pretty certain that he was falling, even though he had no sensation that he was doing so, and he was rapidly approaching a point of light in the distance that didn’t seem to be getting any closer, which was very confusing. He did his best to pull himself back in the direction from which he had come, like a swimmer kicking against a strong tide, but here is another interesting thing about black holes: the more you struggle to escape the force of one, the quicker you’ll reach that whole part about infinite density, and crushing and stuff, due to time and space being all muddled up.
²⁰

The awareness that, even though he was trying to move away from whatever he was falling toward, he was still approaching it with increasing rapidity, gave Nurd a headache. Fortunately he was distracted from it by the feeling that every atom of his demonic form was being stretched on an infinite number of tiny racks, each of which had helpfully been fitted with a selection of very sharp pins. Then that particular pain came to an end, to be replaced by the way a banana might feel if someone peeled it, briefly balanced it upright on a table, and then dropped a rock on it.

Just as Nurd began to think that this was the end for him, all the pain stopped, and he felt something firm beneath his feet. His eyes were squeezed shut. He opened one of them carefully, then another, and then a third, which he kept for special occasions.